Every Time We Say Goodbye
by Psychedelica
Summary: Rigsby's never fully moved on. How can he?


**Disclaimer - Seriously, guys, if I owned the Mentalist or any of its characters, do you seriously think I'd be posting stories on a fanfiction site when I could be showing Season Four to the world? So me no owney, and me no owney the song.**

**Part of my 100 songfics challenge, Song #98, Songfic #3 - Every Time We Say Goodbye. Grigsby! :) Hope you enjoy, and remember, R&R's make me a very happy girl indeed!**

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><p>One day he met a woman. They had a story, a story they wouldn't tell. A story they <em>couldn't <em>tell. Not because it was boring or unexciting – no, quite the opposite – but because they refused to tell the story even to themselves.

_Every time we say goodbye_

_I die a little_

The first time he met her, he thought she was beautiful. But he didn't tell her. Of course he didn't. He never told her anything.

_Every time we say goodbye_

_I wonder why a little_

The second time he met her, he was told that he'd be working with her every day until one of them was promoted or retired, neither of which looked likely to happen any time soon.

He knew he had all the time in the world, yet inside he felt so impatient.

_Why the gods above me_

_Who must be in the know_

The third time he met her was on her first day. Her hair was so breathtaking; he loved the way it caught the fluorescent strip lights of the office. He couldn't help but look at her _all the time_, and soon he felt that everybody except for her had noticed.

Eventually he was persuaded to tell her how he felt, but by then she already knew. And then Lady Luck granted him with a gift – the gift of her love. He swore that he would remain by her side for the rest of eternity.

_Think so little of me_

_They allow you to go_

Shakespeare once wrote that the course of true love never did run smooth. It was when the deadline was issued that they realised that.

He said they had to be together.

She said he was only thinking of himself.

He denied it.

She said it was true and then left.

He knew it was true as well.

_When you're near_

_There's such an air_

He thought he'd stop loving her once she was gone.

Maybe he would have stopped loving her, if she had gone.

But she didn't go. She was still there, nine till five, five days a week. He worked alongside her, chatted to her, spent time alone with her.

And every time he saw the fluorescent strip lights catch her coppery hair when she was in the office, the knife in his chest stabbed just that little bit harder.

_Of spring about it_

_I can hear a lark somewhere_

So he resorted back to his old life. That was, watching her out of the corner of his eye. But this time he looked surreptitiously. And as well as love in his gaze, there was loss.

_Begin to sing about it_

_There's no love song finer_

He found another someone. He had a great time. She was really nice. But she wasn't her. Wasn't the right woman.

He wasn't supposed to be with her.

But he stayed with her anyway, for a while at least. They laughed, talked about unimportant things. He brought her into work just to show his true love that he had moved on.

He ended the relationship that same day, feeling like a terrible human being.

_But how strange the change_

_From major to minor_

It wasn't very long before he regretted his actions. His love found another. Just as he had pretended to. Except her love, her love was genuine.

She really had moved on.

_Every time we say goodbye_

He didn't think it would last, thought selfishly that maybe she'd realise how much better he was. Realise just how much she loved him.

_If _she still loved him.

_When you're near_

_There's such an air_

_Of spring about it_

"I still love you."

He said it to the mirror. Every day. It was so much easier saying it to the mirror. He didn't dare say it to her face. To anyone's face.

He thought it a lot. In his head. When she was beside him. He thought of all the wonderful things he'd tell her and imagined her reaction.

She'd tell him she loved him too.

She'd smile that wide white smile she always used to smile when they were together.

She'd reach up and kiss him, kiss him until all that difficulty was in the past and nothing mattered except for them, him and her, locked together forever, nothing able to prise them apart.

And then someone would say something, or a phone would ring, or somebody would cough, and he'd break out of his fantasy and remember that he was still alone, and she was still with _him._

_I can hear a lark somewhere_

_Begin to sing about it_

It hurt to see the other man with her. It physically hurt. He'd been through much pain in his life but none of it matched with this.

The knife in his chest had become a chainsaw.

_There's no love song so finer_

_But how strange the change_

_From major to minor_

One day – one monotonous day, just like they'd all been since she left – she said she had something to tell him. She looked so happy, so excited. He hoped, hoped so hard. He hoped to himself that maybe she'd found a solution to their problem. Found a way for them to be together.

But that was foolish, he told himself.

He steeled himself for yet another heartbreak.

_Every time we say goodbye_

And it came. The heartbreak. Those _words._

No breath came to his lungs.

The chainsaw in his chest turned to ice.

She had done it.

She had finally done it.

Grace had broken him.


End file.
